


Smoke

by underthenorthstar



Category: Black Clover, Black Clover - Tabata Yuki (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Anime, Anime: Black Clover, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Romantic Fluff, Smoking, These two are soft for each other, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Yami’s crippling nicotine addiction, black clover - Freeform, black clover anime, but the insults and snark still stand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27157198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underthenorthstar/pseuds/underthenorthstar
Summary: “You love it,” he teases gently, fingers stroking languidly over her skin.“I love you,” she yawns, and her eyes close. “Filthy habits and all.”
Relationships: Charlotte Roselei/Yami Sukehiro
Comments: 3
Kudos: 93





	Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> So I haven’t written anything for a loooooong time and then I got into Black Clover and found a little inspiration. I don’t read the manga, only watch the anime. Perhaps a little OOC, but I am convinced these two would become soft little beans for each other once they finally confess their love. 
> 
> TW: smoking, implied sexual content 
> 
> Enjoy and be gentle with me please! :)

The urge for a cigarette wakes him. 

It’s not unusual for him to smoke a few times in the night, the need for nicotine breaking through even his most pleasant slumber. It irritates him on occasion, the inability to get through a night undisturbed. His ragamuffins would probably appreciate him in the mornings more after a full night spent in dreams. Though, he thinks, as he sits up and reaches for the pack sitting on his bedside table, reality is currently a lot better than any damn dream.

Reality is standing in front of the window, her silhouette illuminated by the wan moonlight shining through the grimy glass. If he was a romantic sap (which, on the very rare occasion, he just might be), he would say she looks like a goddess, like beauty incarnate come down from the Heavens to make men fall to their knees in awestruck worship. And then probably cut them all down where they kneel, he thinks with a smirk. She may be a goddess of beauty, but with her beauty comes unrepentant destruction. A rose covered in thorns, soft yet deadly, feminine yet with the power to strike you down and make you bleed. 

He’s never been afraid of seeing his own blood.

“What’s on your mind, Prickly Queen?” He asks, bringing the now lit cigarette to his mouth. 

“Nothing really,” she says, and the softness of her voice tugs lightly at his heartstrings. There once was a time he would not have dared to think he would hear it like this, quiet and laced with sleep. He treasures it. “I woke up for a drink of water, that’s all.”

She sets the cup in her hand down on the windowsill and turns towards the bed, wrinkling her nose slightly at the sight of smoke escaping from between chapped lips. “Must you do that in bed?”

He snorts. “My hideout, my rules.” 

She scoffs, but the corners of her mouth tug up slightly. “I seem to recall saying something similar to you every time you spend the night in my bed, and I just get a face full of smoke as a response.” 

He shrugs. “Why would I get up when I’m already comfy in bed? Take me as I am or leave me, Prickly Queen.”

(She’s always taken him for who he is. There’s few who have). 

She tries to fight her smile but she’s failing. Her lips quirk up further. “Perhaps I should start up too, then. We can smoke in bed together.”

He laughs outright, the offending object swinging precariously from his lips. “Yeah right, the day I see you smoking is the day that no magic idiot remembers to restock the toilet paper.” 

She gives up on her stern mouth, a full smile blooms across her face. After years of tight lipped glares and angry stares, it never fails to make his heart falter slightly. 

“You got me,” she dances towards the bed, her blue nightgown swishing around her like a waterfall of silk. He reaches for her, hands settling on her hips as she climbs into his lap. Even after all these months he is still surprised by how unburdened and bold she is when it’s just the two of them. How free she can be with her feelings and affections. Of course, his tsun tsun princess still exists at times (especially with intense teasing from his end), but where would the fun be if she left? 

“I’ll never take up such a filthy habit,” she continues, hands trailing up his bare chest. “Only a moronic meathead of a man would subject his lungs to such abuse.” 

(Ah, the “man” insults. Now said with exasperated affection instead of scorn. He’ll take it.)

She plucks the near dead cigarette from his lips and tosses it onto the ashtray beside him. He opens his mouth to protest but the look she’s wearing silences him. 

“Besides,” her eyes are growing dark, and her lips are bending into that smile that makes things below the belt twitch in excitement. “If I want to taste smoke, I’ve got a much more pleasant way of doing so.” 

He anticipates her kiss and meets her halfway, a dance perfected over the months they’ve belonged to each other. There was a time when he never would have believed this possible, when he had bet his chips on secretly pining for the cold and sharp rose from a far. When he thought the idea of him brought her nothing but disdain. When both of them were stupid, scared, oblivious idiots.

(Good thing he was often a shit gambler.) 

She tugs on his hair, impatient. He laughs into her mouth, shaking himself out of his thoughts. “You in a hurry?“

She tugs harder and his eyes roll back slightly. “Stop talking, idiot.”

He flips them so fast she squeals in surprise. “Hey, I’m the one who gives the orders around here.” He nips lightly at her throat, enjoying the way it makes her squirm beneath him.

“Is your mouth only good for cigarettes and talking nonsense?” She tries to say sternly, but his hands have already started wandering and it comes out rather breathy. 

He grins a shit eating grin against her pounding pulse. “You know it isn’t.”

“Then hurry up before I throw the rest of those awful things in the trash.”

(An empty threat, but he’s nothing but a devout worshiper of his Prickly Queen. So he obeys.)

Some time later he lights another very unconfiscated cigarette and she half heartedly complains as she lounges against his chest, drowsy and sated. He just laughs, his own buzz mixing pleasantly with the tobacco and the feel of her. 

“You love it,” he teases gently, fingers stroking languidly over her skin. 

“I love you,” she yawns, and her eyes close. “Filthy habits and all.”

He presses a kiss to her head and squeezes her tight, his own declaration that he knows she understands. He takes another drag as she slowly begins to slip into the bliss of sleep.

“Goodnight, Yami,” she murmurs. 

“Goodnight, Charlotte,” he blows the smoke into the air, and watches it lazily drift into the velvet night.

**Author's Note:**

> I just like the idea of Yami referring to the Bulls as ragamuffins, okay?


End file.
